


conflagration

by fr0ntier



Series: only acting like this 'cause i like you [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:46:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fr0ntier/pseuds/fr0ntier
Summary: Bucky tries to balance the line between being respectful of Natasha's privacy and introversion while also dying internally of potential heartbreak.





	conflagration

 

> **conflagration** , noun. plural **conflagrations  
>  ** 1\. _a large and destructive fire that causes extensive damage  
>  __2\. a violent event or conflict_

 

* * *

It all started during a visit home to Brooklyn.

(Well. It didn’t all _start_ then, but it certainly was exacerbated by the visit.)

 

A few months into the semester, Bucky got out of a meeting with his advisor and to find his phone notifying him of three new texts from Becca. That wasn’t really out of character for his sister, but when they’re accompanied by half a dozen voicemails? That’s what had his alarm bells ringing out of control.

Turns out their ma’s oncologist had some news, and Becca was panicked because she a feeling it wasn’t going to be particularly _good_ news.

“I can’t do this by myself,” she admitted when he called her back. “You’re going to be back for break, right? I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can do it on my own again —”

“Becca, it’s fine. You don’t have to. I’ll work on getting the okay from the department. I’ll be there a few days early, and we can do this together.”

“Okay,” she sniffled. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

 

So Bucky spends the majority of November in the shitty little townhouse apartment he grew up in. It kinda launched him into a surreal tailspin, being back home. He knew Sam and Steve are a subway ride away in West Harlem, but he doesn’t want to bother them with all this. Bucky had basically collapsed in on himself the first time he and Becca had found out about their ma’s cancer, and his two friends had provided enough support to pull him out of those tar pits for one lifetime.

He’ll never get over how much Becca has grown up in the past few years. She’s in her junior year at Brooklyn College, had decided to stay close to home to keep an eye on Mrs. Barnes.

Bucky barely knocked on the front door before it was opening and she leapt at him, bursting into relieved tears when he caught her and squeezed her tight.

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” she chanted through tears, the nickname only she and his ma had ever used for him. It drove him to tears as well. “Thank Christ. I didn’t know what I was gonna do —”

“Hey Bee,” Bucky responded with a high, weepy laugh of his own. “Good to see ya.” He set her down and patted her head smoothing her frizzy hair down. She was wearing an old shirt of his, fashionably paired with a vintage pair of flower-embroidered jeans. Becca had always been the creative one with a taste for the dramatic and it’s so good to see her almost the same as he’d left her. “God, look at your gross puffy eyes.” She smacked him in the shoulder.“Where’s ma?”

Becca swiped the heels of her hands under her eyes, sniffling. “In the den. She’s got such a good attitude about all this, but the appointment at the hospital tomorrow— I just don’t know. I don’t know.”

Bucky pulled her in for one more quick, comforting hug before adjusting his backpack over his shoulder and nodding. “C’mon, I wanna see her. Am I gonna get an earful, y’think?”

His sister laughed. “Hell yeah. She’s still mad that you didn’t make it home for my birthday in April.”

Bucky winced, and followed her into their house.

 

The news, as Becca suspected, was not good. It wasn’t bad, either, considering how long their mother had been in stage 4, but it certainly was not _good_.

“See, Rebecca. I told you. Bothering your brother to come all this way home, taking away from his studies.” Mrs. Barnes chastised as her daughter pushed her wheelchair out of the hospital entrance. Bucky followed behind them, hands in his pockets. She turned a little to look at him over her shoulder, shooting him the bright, devious smirk that he’d inherited. “We all know he needs all the help he can get at school.”

“Ma,” Bucky protested, unable to keep an answering laugh from escaping. It was good to see her in high spirits, though he couldn’t help but wonder if some of it was her natural bravado. “C’mon. I get bullied enough by the kids at school, don’t need you harpin’ on me too.”

His mother snorted, waving her hand dismissively, and Becca snickered.

“What he’s really worried about,” his sister began impishly, “is leaving his girlfriend behind.”

Mrs. Barnes startled them both when she yanked on the hand brake of her wheelchair, causing Becca to bump into the back of it.

“His _what_ now?” she demanded at the same moment Bucky started slapping at Becca’s arms, chastising her. “You have a _what_ and did not tell your own damn mother?”

Becca, busy fighting off her brother, darted around the front of the wheelchair and squatted down. “And it’s _serious_ , ma. They’re living together.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Bucky complained. Hearing himself say it aloud was more distressing than he thought it was going to be, and he was aware of how sad he must have looked then because both women turned startled, wide eyes on him. “She’s — we’re not…dating. Specifically.”

“Haven’t got your head out of your ass yet?” His mom teased after a moment without any bite. She can probably sense how sensitive the subject is. “Becca, what do you know? Update me.”

She shook her head. “Not much more than you do. He’ll send some gross, affectionate texts about her occasionally, but I don’t even know her name.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky protested. “And I was waiting for it to get serious, but…”

“But?” his mother prompted. She let the hand brake loose and the three of them started to walk towards where Becca had parked their van. “But what? You live together. Were you waiting to get engaged before you were going to tell your poor, ailing mother about this girl?”

Bucky spluttered. “It’s not — like I said, it’s not like that. She’s…she’s a tough one to crack. We haven’t even talked about dating seriously.”

Becca’s eyebrows raised, and then she waggled them. “Oh. So it’s one of _those_ things, huh?” Mr.s Barnes reached behind her and pinched the sensitive skin above her elbow. “Ow!”

“Watch your mouth.” Bucky helped her into the back seat and then folded her chair up, securing it on its the rack in the trunk. Becca had already started the car by the time he made his way to the passenger seat. “You gonna show us this girl or not, Jamie?”

Bucky grumbled something sour at Becca’s trouble-maker grin, and retrieved his phone from his pocket to pull up Natasha’s Facebook page.

 

Later that night, he and Becca were relaxing in the den watching some capital- _b_ -Bad horror movies on Netflix. Becca was cradling Bucky’s phone, scrolling through Natasha’s Instagram feed with her thumb and shoveling popcorn into her mouth with her free hand. Bucky kind of envied her. He missed having a food hand and an activity hand.

(Not like _that_ , though. Well…Kinda like that, if he was being honest.)

“Wow, she’s gorgeous,” Becca mumbled around a mouthful of kettle corn. “And smart, judging from all this multitasking she’s doing. Look at that…volunteering to teach inner city kids who want to dance?” She shook her head and then glanced sideways at Bucky. “What’s she doing with you, dude?”

He sighed. “That’s my crisis right now.”

“Not your upcoming thesis deadline? Not TAing two pre-med classes? Must be nice”

Bucky thought about this and winced. “That’s _one_ of my crises right now.”

Becca closed out of the app and handed him his phone back. “And that blueprint you have to submit for your residency application?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, let’s just keep listing these. How about we add ‘ _mom’s possible full body metastatis_ ’ in there, while we’re at it?”

His sister scowled at him, ignoring the screeches of the blood-soaked heroine on the screen. “Ouch. That was unfair.” Bucky apologized, picking at a thread on his sweater. “I didn’t know she was Russian. Natasha Romanoff. Cool name.”

“The coolest,” Bucky responded stupidly, sinking back into the couch. He thought about he wanted to say next and squirmed. “I’ve been thinking —”

“Ironic.” Becca responded, munching on the popcorn he threw at her. “About what?”

He hesitated. “I…I think she and ma would get along really well. But —”

“You guys are just fuck buddies, there’s no way you could get her to come home with you for something that serious, and you’re scared that you’re running out of time with ma now?”

Bucky stared at her, blinking several times. “That’s eerie.”

She shrugged. “It’s not that hard to guess. You kinda wear all that shit —” Becca gestured to her face with her palm in sweeping motions. “Right here.”

He sighed. “Is that stupid? I mean — first, that I can’t even figure out if we’re even…I mean, we got a cosigned lease. She’s got a cat, I have a dog. That’s downright nuclear. We split the utility bill. We even got a favorite Sunday brunch spot: best three dollar mimosas.” He rubbed his face with his hand. “That sounds like a relationship to me.”

“Me too,” Becca agreed. “So what’s her deal, if you’re the one that can’t communicate shit?”

What _was_ Natasha’s deal? It was a little unfair of him to put all of it on her, but…there were certainly some factors that contributed to the whole thing. Bucky rubbed his jaw.

“She’s basically untouchable, I guess. Not like…” he pinked a little, ignoring Becca’s disgusted screech. “I mean, she’s so coolly confident it’s — Christ, Bee, I don’t know. Nothing bothers her. She doesn’t emote unless it’s absolutely necessary, and I know so little about her. We’ve been friends for a couple of months and roommates for a few weeks, and I still…I don’t even know if she has family?”

Becca looked stunned at that. “You don’t know if she has _family?_ ”

“I’m pretty sure she does. I mean, at least from the way she talks about growing up… she was part of the Russian foster system. One time she mentioned an orphanage, so I…I mean, if part of that is why she can be so distant and unflappable, I get it. I wanna respect that.”

His sister shook her head again, this time in sincere disbelief. “Man, you really care for this girl, huh?” She reached out for the remote and paused their movie, twisting to face him on the couch and tucking her legs underneath her. “This is way more serious than I thought. Why can’t you just talk to her about it?”

Bucky shrugged, leaning his head on the back of the couch. “She just…spooks. Finds a way out of the conversation if she guesses what I’m steering it towards.” He sighed. “I’m not even sure if she feels the same as I do about the whole thing?”

“It’s pretty confusing,” Becca agreed. “Normally if a dude is so obstinate about a girl like this, I’d be like ‘hey maybe fuck off because she doesn’t like you’. But you’re roommates, and like, I would _assume_ fairly intimate and close.”

Bucky nodded, and then groaned and collapsed backwards. “It hurts my head to think about. Can we just watch Bake Off and forget about it for now?”

She laughed and patted his knee, grinning. “Sure, buddy. Sure.”

 

Bucky caught a plane back at the end of the month, still lazy and slow from their giant Thanksgiving dinner. His mom had a pretty close-knit network of friends and remaining family members, and none of the Barneses had lifted a finger the entire weekend. He was thankful for that, at the very least, but it also had left him with more free time to worry over Rebecca’s ever-growing pile of responsibilities, their mother’s health, and the battle with her insurance.

All of that coalesced into Buck being absolutely exhausted by the time he got back to the apartment. It was late on top of that, so late that Bear, his service dog, hadn’t even greeted him at the door. The elkhound was curled comfortably on the rug in front of the TV, which bathed the living room in an early 2000s rerun of America’s Next Top Model. He guessed that Natasha must have fallen asleep on the couch, and made a beeline for his room down the hall instead of waking her. If he was honest, the conversations with his ma and Becca hadn’t really gotten him particularly excited about trying to approach the subject with her. And the more he thought about it, the more he felt hurt by the whole thing. The more he felt hurt, the stupider he felt, because the weren’t dating, she was an independent person with free will, and if he couldn’t handle his own feelings about the whole thing…

Bucky groaned as he pulled his boots off, tossing them into the pile of clothes already building in the corner of his room surrounding (but not in) his launder hamper. He’d deal with it in the morning, if he got to it.

As he was falling asleep, he thought he might have heard a quiet “James?” from the living room, and then he succumbed (fuckin’ finally) to unconsciousness.

 

Bucky woke with a dry mouth and a headache to the oppressive heat of his bedroom. Whining pathetically, he twisted in the sheets until he eventually kicked them off.

There was, in the same moment that he turned to his side, a moist nose pressed against his. Bucky opened his eyes, staring into the loving gaze of his canine companion.

“Hey buddy-boy,” he greeted, voice hoarse. Bear closed his panting mouth to snuffle at Bucky’s face, big paws coming dangerously close to his crotch. Yelping, Bucky rolled to his side and nearly off the bed, catching himself on the end table. “Ugh, Christ. Gotta remind myself to brush your teeth more often.”

Shoving the elkhound’s muzzle away with a laugh, he pushed himself off the bed with the careful grace that only came with years of practice, getting used to his, y’know, whole unilateral arm situation.Once he got away from the dog’s offending breath, Bucky sniffed at the air. It smelled like…breakfast.

He froze halfway to the door, arm outstretched towards the handle.

Natasha was the only other person with a key. Natasha never made breakfast, and yet the whole apartment smelled suspiciously of fresh fruit and pancake batter.

Quietly, Bucky opened his bedroom door. It faced out to the living room and the kitchen island beyond. Natasha stood on the other side of the counter, facing away towards the stove. There was some kind of classical music playing and she was humming along, swaying back and forth a little. She looked taller than usual, and Bucky figured she was on her tiptoes as she moved. She was also…well. She was wearing one of his old jerseys from back when he played community-league baseball back home — the back of it read “Barnes” in blocky, collegiate letters, and Bucky knew from experience that the front read _Brooklyn Division Champions_. Admittedly, it looked much better on Natasha than it did on him.

(He might have been a little biased there, because she was only wearing a pair of flimsy pajama shorts under it, and it was early so his brain was just not in any shape to be undistracted by the fact.)

It suddenly hit him how oddly domestic the whole scene was. Natasha making breakfast and singing to herself, the morning news playing on the TV…hell, even her little devil of a black cat was behaving nicely, sunbathing on the back of the couch. He wondered for a moment if this was some internalized sexist dream he was going to wake up feeling guilty about.

In fact, he was in the middle of sleepily debating the benefits of retreating back into his room when Natasha turned around. She was raising a spoon to her mouth, tongue pointed out, when she noticed him, her eyes going wide. Almost like she was nervous (but Natasha was never anything but collected and calm), she slapped the spoon onto the counter and put her arms behind her back like a guilty child.

“Morning. I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon.” She grinned, looking sheepish. “Last time I checked on you, you were drooling into your pillow, _moy miliy.”_

There it was, another of those phrases that she wouldn’t translate for him. He made a note to look it up later, feeling suddenly annoyed with her. It was probably (definitely) unfair, but he was a little blonde with thoughts of his conversation with Becca, his confusion, her emotional distance.

“I’m not a toddler,” he grumbled, irritated. “Don’t need you checkin’ to see if I stopped breathing.”

Natasha’s movements at the stove hesitated for just a moment, the line of her shoulders tensing. Bucky didn’t look up from the circles he was drawing on the table.

“All right. Next time I’ll just smother you with a pillow and sneak off with your wallet. I’ve got a few Swiss accounts to fill anyway.” She chirped, still sounding uncharacteristically bright. “How was your visit?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the back of her head. He thought, maybe if he looked long enough, glared hard enough, he could see into her skull like an x-ray. Maybe he could finally see what she was thinking, maybe he could be the one to be a step ahead for once.

“Didn’t start very good, but I got a change to catch up with some old friends while I was there.” Bear came over to sit at Bucky’s socked feet, and he affectionately nudged the cuddly lump of fur with his toes. He cleared his throat. “They, uh. They keep getting feisty about me not bringing home anyone yet.”

Nothing about her posture gave her away this time. “Oh?”

That made his blood boil a little. Christ, he wished he could be so unaffected; the truth of the matter was that he’d been falling in love with her since they started…whatever this was. Maybe before that, even. It seemed like such an organic, logical progression to him, snowballing into something big and heavy in his chest.

“Yeah,” he responded, voice tight. “Yeah, They seem to think that being serious means you bring someone home to meet all your family and friends.” He shrugged even though she couldn’t see it with her back turned. “They’re just teasing me about not doing it yet.”

Now she did turn, frying pan in one hand and the other maneuvering a spatula. “Not bringing someone home, or not having something serious to _bring_ home?”

That…well. Anyone else and that would be a loaded question, wouldn’t it? For all her playful possessiveness,Natasha had never struck him as a jealous or controlling person - especially in a relationship.She certainly. Well. She was in charge, more often than not, but she wasn’t clingy by any sense of the word. So her asking like that absolutely threw him for a loop.

Did she want him to say he thought this could be serious? Maybe, but it was also Natasha. She was just as likely to split and never talk to him again if he outright said it like that. Or…at all, really.

Maybe she was expecting him to make a joke? Or maybe she was waiting for him to just laugh it off and pretend that he never considered the idea that they could have something together.

Bucky bit his lip, trying to stamp down the defensive irritation and heartache that was rising in his chest.

“Both, I guess,” he finally said, and it was the wrong response.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. She was a very composed woman. She had a poker face that made him break out in a nervous sweat. Whenever they played chicken - with jokes, teases, even in more intimate settings - she always won.

After her spoke, after her eyes narrowed into cool, guarded slits, Bucky realized his mistake. She put the pan, their breakfast and all, back on the stovetop.

“Your mom is pretty old fashioned?” She asked after a long moment of silence. He blinked at her.

“Uh. I mean, in some ways yeah. She’s cool about, y’know, every time I’ve brought a guy or somebody else home to meet her— she’s great about stuff like that.” Bucky took a deep breath to calm himself.

“You’ve brought people home to meet her?”

“Yes?”

Now Natasha looked less under control and more downright _provoked._ She always got that little dip between her eyebrows when she was frustrated.

“Did your mom agree with your friends? About bringing someone home?”

He frowned, feeling suddenly irritated himself. “She — Becca had shared some things with her that I uh…that I’d told Becca about.” Bucky awkwardly flapped his hand between them, feeling like an absolute idiot. “And she asked if we were, y’know.”

Natasha’s eyebrows raised. “What? If we were what? _Fucking?_ ”

He winced. “Christ. No, Nat. I don’t think I’d be able to handle hearing my ma talk about something like that.” He shook his head. “She asked, uh. If I had a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend.” Natasha repeated. Her hands were splayed on the countertop and she was leaning across the island, closer to his face than before.

Bucky felt the irritation bleeding into every joint. “A girlfriend, y’know. Partner, significant other. You, ideally, but that’s only if I could manage to get a goddamn conversation going about it without you bolting.”

Natasha’s mouth looked suspiciously close to dropping open. The pancakes were burning.

“You’re joking.”

He threw his hand in the air. “I’m not!”

Natasha huffed and turned around, nearly snapping off the dial on the stove when cut the gas. The pan of burning, black pancakes were tossed summarily into the trash, pan flung in the direction of the sink. She did not turn to look at him when she spoke.

“You were gone for three weeks, and you come back here acting like a…a… just childish! —”

Bucky was incensed. “Childish! Natasha, sweetheart, I’m a whole lotta things, but I ain’t lacking in maturity. You wanna know what I’m most guilty of?”

She only glared at him, her arms crossed in front of her chest and face stony.

“My biggest problem—” Bucky choked the first time, making his second attempt sound ragged and emotional as he swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “Biggest problem is lettin’ myself get so goddamn _deep_ in this with you, when you clearly don’t give half a fuck about it. Maybe you made it clear in the beginning. Maybe I shoulda taken the hint when you never want to sleep over in my bed. Or don’t wanna let me touch you in public. Or you won’t let me introduce you to my friends here. Or you won’t come see me during office hours, won’t let me take you out to lunch.”

He ran his hand through his hair, swearing at himself when he realized it was shaking.

Natasha had opened her mouth, probably meaning to take advantage of the lull in his rambling, when she was interrupted by a shrill beep. One of the things he loved about her was her silly obsession with outdated American media culture. She was so curious about the sitcoms, cartoons, and music of the early to mid 2000s, emphasized by the fact that her ringtone was that of some Disney spy drama he couldn’t ever remember the name of.

They both looked at her phone, propped against the clay potted succulents she’d purchased about a week ago and re-homed on the island counter.His stomach did a devastating, resounding nosedive when she saw the caller ID and her mouth twitched. She didn’t even give him a second glance when she swiped her thumb over the screen to answer.

“Hi, Matthew.” Something definitively _final_ settled in his chest, heavy and dramatic. “No, no. I was just trying to get something started for breakfast. I have time to talk, of course.”

Bucky’s stool scrapped loudly and shrilly against the hardwood floors, incited by the force he’d exerted when he shoved himself away from the counter. It was loud enough to startle Liho, yanked from his peaceful mid-morning nap, and the little cat physically jumped at the noise. He darted down the hallway towards Natasha’s room, and Bucky stood in the center of the kitchen watching her expression go soft and pleasant as she spoke into her phone. It was a hushed conversation not meant for his ears — purposefully kept low enough that he could not hear.She walked past him unflinchingly, head held high, and followed the cat into her room, shutting the door.

 

So. Yes. There’s a whole other side to this problem that Bucky has been having with their quote-unquote relationship status. Natasha, whether a previous attained habit or not, had a penchant for keeping in touch with her exes.

Now, this is something that Bucky has made a considerably and pointed effort _not_ to mention to Becca. He obviously thought the world of Natasha, and had seen her at her best and brightest. Hell he’d even seen her at a few low points, when she’d been willing to let him an audience (no matter how brief) to those intimate parts of herself.

Yes, he had decided to keep any information or gossip that might harm Becca’s view of the Russian away from her. It was frankly a little stressful, because lying always stressed him out. He rationalized it by reminding himself that even _he_ didn’t like to think about it most of the time, so why bring it up in conversation when it would only turn her off from Natasha?

What especially botheredhim was the jealousy. It felt wholly unwarranted and wrong. He had no right to feel hurt or jealous; Natasha was her own person. Whatever the status of their situation was, she didn’t belong or answer to anyone but herself. That included details of her personal life and the choices she made (he considered himself pretty fortunate to be one of the people that she spoke to, all in all).

But goddamn, did he care _._ He hadn’t been this serious about anyone in some time. He wanted her to be happy, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt sometimes.

Maybe it would have been easier if her entire dating experiences fell under the umbrella of awkward, rude, or unacceptably weird individuals.But no, of course not. Of course it wasn’t easy. No.All of the people Natasha had seen over the years…they were horribly talented, intelligent, and interesting people. Every single one of them (at least the ones she had spoken to him about).

Among them was the Ivy League educated lawyer, Matthew, who she was currently on the phone with. The others included a stunning line-up of a twice gold medal winning archer, a blonde polyglot diplomat and nuclear physicist, a young woman who worked for the CIA (or some other shadowy spy organization Natasha no doubt had ties to), and a mysterious French-Algerian heiress.

And then…then there was Bucky.

He didn’t like to be hard on himself — he was generally a pretty confident person, and he knew his worth. He was smart, he got compliments about his appearance, he knew he was a good friend and brother.

But he wasn’t a nuclear physicist or an advocate for those wronged by the justice system. He was a postgrad who geeked out at the latest biomedical research, who loved to teach (even if it was a bunch of annoying undergrads). So there was also the matter of why the _hell_ Natasha had taken an interest in him…which, when set alongside the fact that she didn’t seem too keen on the idea of putting a label on their relationship. Well, it made him feel kinda fucking gross.

At his feet Bear grumbled, one of his exasperated, bored little _boofs_ that usually had Bucky chuckling. Now he just sighed and reached down to pat the dog’s head.

Bear tilted his head on his paws to peer up at Bucky quizzically, whining.

“Me too, pal.” Bucky said, resolutely _not_ looking over his shoulder at Natasha’s bedroom door. “Me too.”

 

Bucky was excited to teach that anatomy class next semester, but he was also pretty content in the two he was TA in currently. His department had even offered him an office on one of the rarely-used floors of the building, and although it was more of a broom closet than an office, he’d done his best to make it professional and welcoming.

The faculty member he was working under barely had enough time to eat and sleep, much less meet with a 140 undergrads desperate for advice during office hours. Bucky had agreed to set up his own time slot, rather than crowding the lecture hall with students after class wanting to meet with either of them.

He was used to the handful of overachievers in every class (he really did enjoy listening to their opinions and participating in discussions), but the line outside his office was a little peculiar. It wasn’t even uncommon, was the strangest part. He’d never been in a lower level class with so many eager participants.

Now, he was meeting with one of the students that routinely set appointments for office hours almost two weeks in advance.

“I just had a few questions about the paper —” she said quickly, digging into her bag for something.

Bucky reached out and shook his head slowly, smiling. “It’s not due until the day of the final exam, you know. If it’s stressing you out right now, we don’t have to talk about it.”

The girl blinked at him, flushed. She looked nervous and panicked, and Bucky felt a swell of sympathy at how hard some of these kids pushed themselves. He remembered doing the same during his undergrad, much to the detriment of his mental health.

“Okay,” the student breathed. She zipped up her bag and settled back in the chair, still looking a little flighty and nervous. “Okay. What do you want t-to talk about then?”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, but was suddenly interrupted by the door to his office swinging open so hard that it knocked against the wall. The poor student jumped so severely that he worried for her heart.

“I’m sorry, but —”

Natasha stood in the doorway. She wore something a little different to every genre of lesson she instructed. Usually black trousers and a black t-shirt for jazz, tights and shorts and a tank top for ballet — today she was wearing a baggy pair of sweatpants (they looked like his, actually), a flannel tied around her waist, and a graphic tee with a portrait of Putin set against a pride flag.

“…Tasha?”

She was panting, skin dewey and pink. Bucky guessed she’d run from wherever she had been leading a hip-hop class.

“James,” she replied breathlessly, and then seemed to gather herself. She cleared her throat and pushed back the wild strands of hair in her face, turning her attention to the student opposite his desk. The girl was staring at her with something akin to wonder and irritation.

(Bucky could relate.)

“Nat,” he said gently. She rolled her shoulders back and looked at him, watching as he gestured to the seated student she towered over.“We just got started. Could you give us —”

“I can’t steal you away to go get coffee?” Natasha grinned innocently, eyebrows raised. “We’ve got some pretty important things to discuss.”

Bucky’s student made a disbelieving sort of noise, somewhere in the realm of an indignant scoff.

“You should check the office hour scheduling tool for any open sessions,” she said matter-of-factly to Natasha. “This isn’t one of them.” She twisted in her seat to face Bucky once again. “There’s a good cafe downtown I could meet you at next week. I didn’t know you met with students off campus.”

“I —” Bucky started.

“He doesn’t,” Natasha interrupted coolly, still grinning like a madwoman. Her eyes cut to Bucky for only a moment before she said: “But he tends to meet with his girlfriend off campus pretty regularly.” She stuck her hand out to the awestruck girl, who was quickly turning an embarrassed and angry shade of red. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. Natalia Romanova. Natasha, for the any linguistically challenged Americans.”

Bucky, who had been stunned into silence by her use of _girlfriend,_ barked out a laugh. The stress from their fight last night evaporated as if it had never exist and he was now looking at her with what he could only assume was a downright _stupid_ grin on his face.

“C’mon. My accent’s not that bad.”

Natasha’s smile was warm, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a tad bashful. “Oh _moy miliy,_ but it is.”

Angela, Bucky’s student who had been summarily forgotten during their exchange, made that indignant huffy noise again and stood abruptly from her chair.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to reschedule. I’ll see you on Wednesday morning for class, Professor Barnes.”

 _I’m not a professor_ , he wanted to correct her. _What was with students constantly calling him that, anyway?_

Instead he shot her an apologetic smile as she moved towards the door, lifting his hand goodbye. “Bucky’s fine, Angela. See you then, and good luck with your classes for the rest of the week.”

The girl stormed out of his office, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. Briefly, another student waiting for a meeting with him poked his head in the door. Natasha didn’t even look behind her as she kicked the door shut in his face, still smirking at Bucky.

“She’s going to give me such a bad review on the course evaluation,” Bucky chided. “So is the kid you just broke the nose of. Are you trying to make me lose my apprenticeship?”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully as she sunk into the chair opposite his desk. He was a little put off by how comfortable she looked, considering what had gone down between them.

“More of your time for me then,” she said with a cheeky shrug. “Don’t worry, James, we’ll get you away from these ravenous teenagers one day.”

He grimaced. “I like meeting with students, actually. They have some good things to say most of the time.”

Natasha stared at him for a long moment, and then she laughed. “Oh James. You’re so wonderfully, deliciously oblivious.”

He frowned. “That’s not —”

Natasha shook her head, curls bouncing the rest of the way out of her ponytail. She caught the tie as it fell down her side and shook her hair out, and he had the sudden and unsurprising urge to get his fingers in it.

She seemed to be on the same page, and he couldn’t help but shudder when she gave him a very slow and _very_ appreciative once-over.

“Your hair looks nice today,” she purred, grinning when he ducked his head bashfully. “And you should wear glasses more often. Very sexy.” He made to protest, feeling the flush start to sink into his chest. “All that, plus a plaid button down with rolled up sleeves?”

He blinked at her. Natasha shook her head again.

“You really think that all of these students are here because they’re just that passionate about neurobiology?” Natasha faked a yawn. “If I had a TA like you when I was doing undergrad, I probably would have paid _way_ more attention.” She tilted her head. “And wouldn’t have switched to something useless like dance.”

Bucky frowned at that last part. “Just because it’s not in the science or math doesn’t mean it’s useless, Natasha. You enjoy it and you’re amazing at it, so it’s—”

She threw her hands in the air. “Christ, you are so obtuse sometimes. Thank you, darling, but this is what I’m talking about.”

Bucky squirmed in his seat a little. “I really don’t know what you mean.”

Natasha blinked at him. “There are ten girls and seven boys waiting outside this office across the hall in the lounge.”

He perked up a little. “Oh! That’s the discussion group for this class, probably. It’s really inspiring to see them take so much interest in an entry level course, it’s what—”

“They are talking about _you._ ”

His eyebrows knit together. “I knew that last quiz was too hard.”

“James. My sweet, darling, stupid man.” Natasha cooed. “How many of them are taking your anatomy section next semester?”

Bucky thought about this for a moment, counting in his head. “Almost all of them, but it filled up pretty fast. Why?”

Natasha sat up from her chair and reached across his desk, her elbows bumping into his laptop. Cupping her hands around his ears, she pulled him forward until she could reach his forehead and then pressed her lips against it.

She brought her mouth to his ear then, making him shudder with her breath. “They’re talking about _your_ anatomy, you idiot.” Bucky gape like a fish as she pulled back, still smirking at him like a shark. “Come on. Let’s go find this cafe Angelica was talking about. We have some things to discuss, yes?”

“Angela,” he corrected stupidly.

He let her lead him around the corner of his desk by his wrist, only just managing to grab his computer and stuff it in his messenger bag. Her hand was between his shoulder blades as he closed and locked the office door. Bucky could feel seventeen pairs of eyes from across the hallway glued to them. The sensation grew more intense when Natasha stood on her tiptoes and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his jaw, subtly dragging her teeth along the skin in the way she knew would always earn her a shiver.

Bucky cleared his throat and shifted to let her get an arm around his waist, head buzzing happily as he reveled in her warmth and nearness.

 _Girlfriend_ , his brain shouted at him. _Girlfriend!_

“Sorry, uh, for the short notice.” Bucky announced to the group of students. “Office hours for the day are canceled.” He tilted his head down at Natasha, who had her other hand flattened possessively over his ribs. “My girl’s a little pissed we haven’t had a date other than takeout and Bachelorette episodes in a few weeks, so. Yeah. I’ll see everyone on Wednesday?”

Natasha was small, but she had some surprising strength. She was currently using it to pull him away towards the exit. He swore he heard her snicker as the group began whispering heatedly amongst themselves.

“We’re going for coffee, right?” Bucky asked as they strolled down the hallway, leaving the grousing students behind. He dropped his hand from the bottom of his bag and found hers, squeezing it tightly. “Cuz as worked up as you got me, I do wanna talk.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed, and rubbed her face in his shoulder like a content cat marking its territory. “Yes. I think we’re long overdue.” She pulled away just enough to glance up at him, waggling her eyebrows. “We’ll save studying for anatomy for tonight.”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed at her ridiculous expression.

“God. You’re singlehandedly the most awful, unfunny woman I’ve ever known.” He admonished affectionately, not meaning a single word.


End file.
